


Spot the Mullet and Aim a Little Higher

by leonwanghk



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Character Death, F/M, M/M, Orphan Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Sexual Content, Sniper Lance (Voltron), Space Dad Shiro (Voltron), Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-09-25 09:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9813842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonwanghk/pseuds/leonwanghk
Summary: The Galra Empire is a underground organisation of smugglers and perhaps something much more than what Lance and Keith understands. Like that one saying goes. Just when you think you're out, they pull you back in.





	1. Prologue: Keith's Background

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thirteen years old orphan, Keith, gets tangled up in something he doesn't understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write a sniper Lance fic but it turned into something much bigger.
> 
> Sorry if this sounds depressing. I tend to be a slightly depressing writer, but I promise Lance's POV will be more entertaining and have some cheesy jokes.

Thirteen years.

That's how long Keith had managed to stay alive.

That's how long it's been since his parents abandoned him on the side of the street. Actually, Keith didn't know what really happened, but he couldn't care less.

Four months.

That's how old he was when he was left to his own devices. Tossed in an overcrowded orphanage in the middle of Hamhung.

Since the beginning, he was a quiet and rebellious child. As soon as he could walk and understand Korean, the boy made sure he was feared. He started fights and never lost a single one. Maybe that's why they kicked him out.

Keith was ten when the headmaster of the orphanage got tired of his attitude and tossed him out into the streets. That was okay. The harsh environment of the orphanage taught him how to survive by himself in the outside world. He pick pocketed and shop lifted. The boy kept on his feet with his fast reflexes and sharp intuition, always acting on instinct. And that never led him wrong. Maybe that was why the Commander zeroed him out.

A messenger was sent to recruit him into what the locals called the "Galra Gang". It wasn't much of a gang as it was what seemed a secret underground organisation of smugglers. And Keith got paid good money, enough for meals and his own living space. He was the top of the top at just such a young age and Commander Zarkon loved him, taught him to read and write in English and Korean. As payment, Keith worked hard and kept his wits about him as he smuggled precious items across the boarder from North to South Korea and vise versa.

Three years.

That's how long he'd been working for the Galra. Actually, he didn't keep track of time. For three years, his life revolved around his missions and nothing else. He didn't care as long as he complete his tasks and got his pay.

Then he met Shiro.

It was a midsummer afternoon and Keith was around thirteen years old. He was on a mission to smuggle a heavy envelope across the boarder to Kanghwado and had stopped to rest. It was hot and he was thirsty and hungry, so he narrowed in on a man's wallet hanging halfway out from his pocket. Getting the wallet was easy. No one paid attention to a small scrawny child. Keith made away with his prize and hid in a nearby alleyway. There was enough cash in the wallet for three days' worth of meals. Content, he prepared to leave the ally when the man he'd stolen from came charging in, a gun held up and aimed at Keith's head. He froze.

The man wasn't much of a man -- maybe around 18 or 19 to be exact -- but at that time, anyone older than Keith, he considered an adult and usually despised them. He spoke in a threatening tone, but Keith didn't recognise the words. Chinese? Japanese maybe? The man did look some sort of Asian. Keith kept a cool head and raised his hands in a form of surrender, wallet held high in one hand.

"English?" He offered. Most everyone knew a little English.

The man looked taken back. He nodded, then frowned, trying to be threatening once more. "Hand over the wallet or lose your head."

"Whoa there, I'll give you the wallet." Keith tossed it at the guy and it landed on the ground in front of his feet. Mr. Japanese lowered the gun and bent to pick it up. He checked his wallet and then eyed the boy suspiciously.

"What did you want this money for?"

"Food." Keith didn't like it, but he tried appealing to the man's sympathy. "I haven't eaten for three days."

"That's not good for a boy your age. How about this. If you promise not to run off with my money, I'll take you to a restaurant for some food?"

Keith wasn't really expecting that. Last time he tried emotional appeal, all he got was a laugh and a broken nose. He debated if he should accept the offer. His mission had a deadline, yes, but he was two days early since he hopped a train on the way. And he was real hungry. It would be nice to sit down with some actual food and drink. Finally, his hunger won over. "O-okay...?"

"Great." The man held out his hand. "Takashi Shirogane. You can call me Shiro."

After a moment, Keith realised what Shiro wanted. "Keith. Keith Kogane." He reached out tentatively to shake the hand and almost jumped back when he dis covered that his fingers touched metal, not skin. Later, over rice and sushi, Keith discovered that Shiro had lost an arm a while back, though he didn't find out how. The light in the alleyway was dim, but here in the restaurant, it was bright and Keith familiarised himself with the face of his somewhat saviour. Shiro had a unexplainable tuff of white amidst his black hair which hung over his temple. The guy looked like he'd gone through some tough stuff.

Turns out, the two had a lot more in common than they thought.

After that meal, Shiro offered Keith a place to stay at his motel room. Hesitantly, the offer was accepted. Shiro was growing on him and Keith had the weird feeling that he didn't want to let the guy down. But his mission was still incomplete, and the weight of the envelope in his backpack seemed to grow heavier and heavier. When Shiro had gone to sleep, Keith sneaked out of the room. He had pinpointed where his destination lies, and it happened to be just a few blocks away. Keith was almost there, he could see the door of the meet up place when a figure tackled him and down he went, rolling onto the side of the vacant street and struggling to free himself from his attacker to no avail. A hand closed around his mouth to muffle his yells. Except the hand wasn't real. It was metal. "Shiro?" His eyes widened as he gasped through the hand.

"Keith..." Shiro closed his eyes, as if disappointed. "Fuck... you're the messenger? YOU work for the Galra?"

Keith tried to push Shiro off, but Shiro was much bigger than him. "What's it to you? Get off me."

"No. Not until you explain..."

Before Shiro could finish, Keith reached for the knife hidden in his boot and swiped at where it would make the most impact, the face. Shiro jumped back and pressed a hand against his face. Keith didn't look to find out what he'd done, and instead sprinted for his destination. He had his hand over the knob when the door opened and the inside conversation spilled out.

"Zarkon wants you to kill the boy after he delivers. Says he knows too much..." a big buff guy bumped into Keith and stopped mid sentence. But Keith had heard just what he needed. His mind spun, trying to wrap around this new information. Zarkon wants him dead? But... but what? He was like your dad? That was wishful thinking. This was an illegal underground organisation, not a family. Of course things would come to this.

"You." A second guy appeared, just as tall and buff as the first one. Keith backed up out of instinct. "You're the boy."

Twenty feet away, Shiro was the spectator to everything that had gone on, and his brain worked fast enough that he was makinf sense of what was going on. The boy was the messenger. He worked for Galra. He doesn't know what he's getting himself into. Now Zarkon is killing yet another one of his play toys to keep any of of the empire he's created from knowing too much. What does the boy even know anyways?

Shiro stood up and reached for his gun. Galra 1 turned his head and Shiro almost wanted to throw up. "Sendak." Shiro growled.

"Wait. You know him? He know you...?" Keith frowned. An uncomfortable pressure pressed on Keith's chest at seeing the red angry gash across Shiro's face, blood dripping down his cheeks. There was just a moment of silence where one can almost hear everyone's brains working overdrive. Then Sendak laughed.

"Hello, Shiro." The voice was low and gravelly, like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing against each other, which was slightly perturbing. "Are you ready to rejoin our ranks again?"

"No." Shiro clenched his jaw. "I will never return after what you guys did to me." He motioned to his synthetic arm. "And I won't let you hurt an innocent child."

Sendak just sighed. "How disappointing." He motioned to the Galra behind him. "Kill the boy. I'll deal with him."

What happened next was a blur. Adrenaline kicked in and Keith wielded his knife tight in his hand. The Galra who was ordered to kill him hadn't even taken two steps before Keith was upon him, a slash across the chest which left the poor guy screaming. Keith rolled sideways and ended up behind the Galra, jumping onto his back and holding his arms around the thick neck, cutting off the air supply. After a long game of rodeo where Keith almost lost his grip on multiple accounts, the Galra finally ran out of air and collapsed on the ground. He heard the crackle of electricity and turned in time to see purple and blue sparks fly off Shiro's arm and electrocute Sendak.

"C'mon." Shiro grabbed Keith by the arm with his other hand and they ran, far away from the unconscious bodies they left behind.

\----------

"I'm sorry."

Shiro let go of Keith's arm as they neared the motel and they slowed to a walk, both huffing to catch their breaths.

"It's alright." Shiro reached up to touch the Keith-inflicted wound and winced. Most of the blood on Shiro's face was dried by now, but the cut was deep enough that, even if it did heal properly, the scar would probably last for a lifetime. "It's not like I've never been in a fight."

"You know Galra." Keith inquired. "How?"

Shiro sighed and Keith knew a story was coming on. "I was an orphan, ever since I was an infant. I was recruited when I was younger than you, back when the Galra base was in Japan. Zarkon had me work a job where I lost my arm. He offered to have an operation done by one of his trusted surgeons who worked within the organisation. I refused, so he forced me. The operation was so much pain and took such a strain on me that resulted in this." He ran a hand through his white tuff of hair. "I left as soon as I could and never looked back. I didn't trust Zarkon again. Actually, the only reason I'm in Korea is to stop you from getting that envelope in your backpack delivered. We saved a lot of lives today." Shiro tilted his head up. "You don't know what kind of work Zarkon is really doing."

Keith waited, but Shiro didn't share more. He just unlocked the door to their motel and ushered Keith inside. That's alright. Keith didn't want to know. Now, all he wanted was to get away. Away from Korea and the Galra. He glanced at Shiro's arm. "Can I?" He pointed at it.

"Yeah." He held out his arm and Keith slid a finger along the metal as Shiro explained. "See, it's all connected to the nerves. There's extra panelling under here, so as I grow, the extra metal start extending out to match my size, so I don't have a small skinny metal arm and a real one that's much bigger." He flexed both arms. "There's some hidden features, such as what you saw when I fought Sendak today."

Keith nodded and let Shiro have his arm back. Shiro sat down and reached for a beer in the fridge. He didn't offer Keith one. Keith didn't ask. "So, how did you get into the Galra?"

Keith bit his lip, but after all that's happened today, he did owe him an explanation, expecially after having heard Shiro's side of the story. "I'm an orphan too." Keith began. He told Shiro everything that he had gone through, and Shiro listened intently. The two shared the motel room for another day. Then Shiro offered to take Keith on a ship to America.

"A new start." Shiro had said. "Fresh beginning."

So Keith left everything behind and made his way to Round Rock, Texas. Getting Shiro's arm past security was a bit difficult, but they managed.

A few years later, Keith found a dirty, torn up backpack in the back of his apartment closet. It looked familiar and he opened it up in curiosity, finding a broken pencil, a small black shirt, and an envelope. He knew exactly what it was, and closed the zipper, throwing it back in the corner where he'd found it. He had a good life now. He had a job, food on the table, games to play, and heck, he had a family in Shiro. He didn't need to ever think about his old life again. Zarkon will never bother him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *aggresively whispers* Constructive criticism and reviews are much appreciated! Thank you!


	2. Day 3: Meet the Parents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Official first chapter! Lance's third day on the mission. Introducing Shiro and Allura from afar and hacker Pidge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "|" at the end of the logs are to signify a blinking type cursor.

**0515 Wake up. Brushes teeth. Shower. Normal black and red attire. Black shirt, red jacket, belt, black skinny jeans, red and white leather boots, black fingerless gloves. Mullet. Still emo. Spotting place: across the apartment, third floor, second window from left.**

**0545 Breakfast. Honey Oats Cheerios. Glass of orange juice instead of milk. Who eats cereal with juice on the SIDE? Spotting place: same.**

**0655 Leaves house. Gets in car. Same route to workplace: Hot Topic. Spotting place: empty lot across mall, roof.**

**0700-1130 Work. New shipment. Spends entire time stocking. Theme of the shipment: Superwholock. Someone buy me that Tardis dress pls. Spotting place: same.**

**1200-1400 Pidge's shift. Lance out.**

**1420-1700 Work. Stocking. Bored. Spotting place: same.**

**1715 Forced to work front desk for a moment. Poor guy doesn't look happy. Nothing unusual today. Spotting place: same.**

**1733 Leaves work. Bought himself a MCR shirt. Nerd. Spotting place: same.**

**1742 Arrives home. Spotting place: across the apartment, third floor, second window from left.**

**1800 |**

 

"I do not get paid enough for this." Lance muttered, shifting on his elbows while keeping his eyes trained on his target. A large bag leaned against his feet and an unrolled sleeping bag next to that, but Lance was too lazy to reach over and unroll it. The cement ground was cold against his stomach and the chipped brick walls were unfamiliar to him, but for the next however long it is, the old, rundown third floor of the abandoned factory building will be home to him from around 1800 hours to 0600 hours everyday. The rest of his daily schedule would be spent from the top floor of a vacant car lot across the town mall.

His mission was simple. Watch the mullet guy until he was given the order to shoot him in the head. Simple enough. Lance narrowed his focused blue eyes and analysed the guy he'd been tailing for the past three days. The only information he'd been given was that the guy's name was Keith. Of course, Commander Zarkon never revealed much background information, for fear that his spotters would grow attached and be unable to pull the trigger when the time came. That didn't stop Lance's avid imagination though. He wondered what actual sniping on the front lines of a war is like and shuddered to think of it. It was already hard shooting strangers during calm afternoons, much less in the middle of danger with bombs exploding and bullets whizzing by. Of course, Lance never had experience in the armed forces, but that's what it sounded like from all those war novels he had to read in history class.

He opened a can of cold beans and dug into the tangy and slightly undercooked protein, surveying through Keith's kitchen window as the guy stuck a styrofoam cup of instant ramen in his microwave. Mullethead was around his early twenties, not bad looking either -- actually, a little more than good looking, and if Lance wasn't waiting to pull the trigger on the guy, he might actually consider Keith to be boyfriend material. He wore a lot of red and dark colours, which was impressive since Lance always thought he himself looked disgusting in any shade of red.

Keith kept his head low and lived a simple life, keeping stock in a local Hot Topic store from 0700 to 1700 everyday and spending the rest of his day in his house, playing video games on his pc or reading a book. He guy didn't even have a bed, he just slept on the couch. What a minimalist. Sometimes, Keith blasted his music and left the window cracked, and Lance cringed at the horrendous music taste. Where's the Beyoncé? Shakira? But no, just a whole lot of the "emo trinity" and...was that Pet Shop Boys?

Lance wondered what this innocent seeming guy with the bad music taste would have ever done to get on Zarkon's bad side.

Lance scraped the bean can clean and set it to the side. Today was a little different than usual. Keith had cleared most of the empty food bags and pop cans into the trash can and didn't immediately plop down on the couch. After a moment, Lance understood why. He caught sight of a man entering the apartment entrance, two stories below. The guy was taller than Keith, buff built, late twenties, donning a black sleeveless tank with what looked like a synthetic arm connected smoothly to his right shoulder. Lance quirked an eyebrow at that and his binoculars followed the man into the building. He appeared again in the doorway after what must have been a few knocks on the door. Lance zoomed in as close as he could and made out the words "SPACE" in white letters across the black tank. Besides the synthetic arm, the other unusual aspect of this man was that he had a tuff of white hair hanging over his forehead, a stark contrast from the rest of his hair, which was dark black and shaved on either side. The hair covered a small portioned of his face and almost had its own life force as it seemingly tried to hide a long scar that crossed over the bridge of his nose. Keith pulled the door open and crossed his arms. They exchanged greetings and the man was invited to sit down on the couch-bed. He had an aura presiding around him that suggested he was a parental figure in Keith's life, like a big brother or a dad -- though he didn't look old enough to be "Dad". Lance decided to call him Space Dad. What's wrong with having a little fun? Not like he'll ever find out the guy's actual name anyways.

Keith grabbed Space Dad and himself a pack of beer and the two started talking. The conversation was trivial and Lance soon lost interest. Instead, he took this time to log his daily activities and apply his skin rejuvenation mask. Just because he was stalking someone with the intent to kill doesn't mean he couldn't take care of his beautiful skin. A man has standards.

 

**1845 Space Dad come over. Shares beers. Game of poker. _[Click here for description]_ Spotting place: same.|**

 

He returned to the two who were now each two beers in and playing a game of poker. Keith stares at his hand of cards intently, twenty dollars and a guitar pick on the line. It was small but Keith had been hesitant to let it go, and the importance was determined after switching to the scope on his rifle, which had much more magnifying power. Lance could see the words Fleetwood Mac etched in white over a black background. What a bunch of nerds. Shiro had tossed in thirty bucks and a necklace of sorts, maybe homemade?

Lance understood the power of homemade items. He glanced down at his wrist to a colourful, bright neon rubber band bracelet, weaved together with the power and nimble fingers of his youngest brother, Benjamin. And when he said youngest, that meant there were five other children between Benny and Lance, and a older sister and baby sister. With so many people in one house, no one would have noticed him if not for his reckless behaviours and hilarious jokes -- at least, they seemed funny to him.

A few minutes later, a car pulled up to parallel park in front of the apartment and a woman got out, dark skin and long flowing silver curls falling in ringlets around her face. Lance tried to determine if the hair had been dyed, but he couldn't tell with the roots. It was either some kind of birth mutation or the hair job was expertly done. He followed her through what he could see up to Keith's apartment. Space Dad answered the door, and Lance saw the woman's face. Holy smokes, she's gorgeous, and by the way Space Dad face reddened as he escorted her in, it was clear that the poor guy was seriously in love. The woman had a fair amount of red on her cheeks. Lance could recognise hardcore pining from anywhere, he's seen so much of that at the club he used to work at. Through the next hour, Lance became more and more frustrated. The light touches, the shy smiles, the way even Keith looked annoyed. How could the two not notice something so obvious? Just kiss already! Lance sighed audibly and unwrapped a granola bar.

Time flies quickly as Space Mom joined in on the game of poker. It was apparant that she was a much better player than the two men, taking all their cash after three games. Keith didn't look happy about losing his guitar pick. Around 2100 hours, Space Dad and Space Mom leaves and Keith is by himself again. He cleans up the beer bottles and settles himself down at his desk, bringing up his fps game.

Static buzzed on his headset, signalling someone was about to speak. "Pigeon One reporting for night duty! Over!"

"Pidge, we don't actually need code names. It's just you, me, and the home base on here."

"Don't be a party pooper, Lance." There was the sound of equipment shuffling on their end and the siren of an ambulance in the background.

"You're not in your usual spot." Lance noticed. More shuffling, followed by a grunt and the chirping of some sort of a bird. "Are those pigeons? Wow Pidge, hanging with your own kind?"

"Yeah, well, shut your fuck, Lance. ("Hey! That's my line!") Some idiots decided to use my empty lot for making pot brownies, the place smells like ass. I'm on the next roof over from you."

Pidge was a special case. They were in their late teens, round glasses and way too smart for their age. They could probably hack into the government computer systems if they wanted. Actually they had, once, on a dare from Lance. He didn't know exactly what they did, but he suspected there was a reason the internet shut down last October.

The two met a week or so after Lance joined the Galra. They were forced into the organisation, like Lance, after they made a deal in which, in exchange for information and help on finding Pidge's missing family members, they owed Zarkon three missions, all of them partnered up with Lance. Lance didn't mind that. Pidge was good company. They'd known each other for about a year or so now. Pidge was no gunman but they were good at keeping lookout. They took night duty and lunch duty everyday so Lance had some time to sleep and stretch. Usually he just hanged out at the local clubs anyways, knowing some other Galra members worked at the strip clubs. Plus, it was his home territory.

"I've been looking into this Keith's background because I'm bored. Did you know he's an orphan? Yeah, he was born in North Korea and got into some trouble when he was younger. Then disappeared off the radar and somehow winded up here. On his legal papers, it says his last name is Paladin, but that's not his actual name. It's something like...Kogane? He's a high school dropout, that's too bad. He's bilingual though. I've never actually heard anyone speak Korean before..." Pidge ranted on, but Lance had his attention directed back to the apartment window at Keith.

What would his voice sound like? Is it high or low? Soft or rough? Quiet or loud? He imagined actually meeting the guy for real, maybe in another situation, at a club maybe? Before the Galra, Lance was working as an entertainer at a strip club. Now, stop right there, before you get any bad thoughts. Lance was actually an amazing pole dancer and his tips did more than pay for his rent, so he actually enjoyed his job. How did a stripper become a sniper for a underground organisation? That's a story for another time.

_Right, so Lance would be working a normal night, finishing a song and then catching a sulky looking hottie by the bar. He would wait for his break as business starts slowing down. Would would Lance do? He'd strut over in his heels and sparkly shoulders with his slightly smudged but still perfect looking makeup, and drop a pickup line._

_"Hey, there, pretty boy. My name is Lance McClain. Do you have a name, or can I call you mine?"_

Okay, ugh, cheesy, but classy. But what would Keith say?

_He's probably be the type that got easily flustered, right? The kind of guy who's barely out of the closet and totally stumbling over his words. He'd probably have his usual half fingered leather gloves on, with a tight black t-shirt and black skinny jeans. Red leather boots? Oh, that'd be hot. "U-uh...hi. Keith. Keith Kogane." His voice would be quiet, but deeper than Lance had expected and a little rough from not having said much all afternoon. Mmmm, wouldn't Lance want a bite of that. The poor flustered guy would only be there for a drink, and he would be so in over his head as he unconsciously checked out the semi-professional pole dancer leaning against the bar beside him, muscular, bare-chested dark skin with a tight pair of sequin covered pants and fluttery eyelashes._

The thought of Keith in a blushing, flustered mess was enough to make Lance's stomach flutter.

_Lance would signal the bartender for two shots, and spend the rest of his break talking to the hot Asian guy. He'd leave his number, most likely, or tempt the him to come back again for another drink._

Too bad this wasn't a normal situation.

"Lance? Lance, were you even listening to me?" Pidge broke him from his trance.

"Nope." Lance unrolled his sleeping bag and organised his equipment beside him. Keith was still on his computer, but this was normal. It was as if he doesn't sleep. "I'm gonna hit the hay, Pidge. If anything unusual happens, yell at me."

"Sounds good." Pidge's side went quiet and Lance entered in his last logs of the day.

 

**1905 Space Mom joins. Poker Queen. Wins cash. _[Click here for description]_ Spotting place: same.**

**2050 Space Mom and Dad leaves. Fps game on computer. Pidge's shift. Lance out. Spotting place: same.  
|**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm gonna put this here again for those who didn't read the notes at the beginning. The "|" at the end of the logs are to signify a blinking type cursor.
> 
> Second of all *squeal* you gUYS! The support on the prologue was massive, thank you! This is my first time navigating AO3 as a writer, so it's gonna be rough knowing where to put notes and what tags to add. If you have suggestions, feel free to leave a comment.
> 
> Third: I'm in no way a sniper myself, no am I in a secret underground organisation, so bear with my shitty info. I am only setting things up as best as I can for the exciting plot later on. (Small spoiler: there will be a chapter fully focused on Lance's backstory.)
> 
> As always, constructive criticism is always welcome!


	3. Day 5: Bullfighting and Hot Topic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance lets his imagination go wild, a few small conflicts occur. Pidge steals twizzlers.

**Log 5**   
**|**

Lance wasn't one to get attached. He'd pulled the trigger on the last two missions fairly easily. One was an office worker in his mid forties and the other was a woman who...well, didn't have the most attractive appearance. Lance was sure she had a beautiful personality. Key word: had.

But Keith. Lance couldn't get over how horribly attractive he was, especially every morning, shirtless and sweaty, at least two hundred push-ups and sit ups. He never actually went to the gym, just self administered exercises in the middle of his living room. Under his usual baggy emo clothes hid biceps, abs, and pectorals that could have easily been just as prominent as Lance's.

Lance wondered why Keith kept himself so built up. It wasn't like he had anyone to show off to, and working at Hot Topic wasn't exactly hardcore. Maybe Keith had a past life that required a stronger built? Lance's imagination liked that and expanded onto ridiculous stories. Maybe the guy used to wrestle gators. No, no wait. Bullfighting? Oh boy, Lance could see it now. Lance had seen many a show back in Cuba, usually on family nights with the older siblings who were deemed mature enough to watch a guy get impaled by a sharp horn. His mind conjured up the image of Keith in a black and red outfit with intricate patterns of gold lacing. And maybe a cowboy hat? Hell, yes. 

_The crowd is silent, quietly anticipating. Keith would stand, face emotionless under the shadow of his hat and spread his arm out, curtaining a large red cloth before the aggressive animal, jumping to the side, no, cartwheeling to the left and away from the bull at the last second. A hollow crash rings out in the stadium as the bull crashes head first into the wall. The crowd goes wild! Bullfighter Queef has done it again! He's got the attention of the crowd cheering for him, throwing flowers and kisses as he strikes the bull in the heart! Despite the splatters of animal blood staining the side of his pants, Keith bows to all sides of the stadium as the bull is pulled away to be sold hundreds of dollars a pound to local pubs. Lance imagine himself as a spectator, cheering like the others in the stands. As Keith takes his last bow, he takes off his hat and shakes his head of sweat matted mullet hair, and tosses the hat at a lucky fan as if throwing a frisbee. Lance is the lucky fan! He stands up tall and waves his prize up in the sky. The crowd chants his name, Lance, Lance, Lance, Lance..._

"LANCE! WORLD TO LANCE, HELLO?" Pidge's voice screamed into his intercom.

The ignorant daydreamer discovered he'd been drooling on his rifle and quickly wipes it off with his sleeve. He adjusted his headset as Pidge's voice blasted in his ears. "Geez, Pidge, you're going to blow out my eardrums!"

"Well, you weren't responding. Anyways, my shift is over, I'm leaving."

"Have fun doing whatever! See ya at lunchtime."

"See ya. Pigeon out." Shuffling on the other end, then it was silent. Lance gathered his materials up in his backpack. It was time to move bases. Finishing up with his highly enticing exercises, Keith stepped into the shower for a few minutes.

"He literately does the same thing everyday. Doesn't he get bored?" Lance stuffed his items in his backpack, preparing to move locations for the day.

**0700 Work at Hot Topic in downtown mall.  
Spotting place: lot across the back storage area of mall.**

**0730 Almost fight with other worker.  
Spotting place: same.  
|**

Now, that was interesting. Keith and another worker, a short blond guy with a mohawk and braces. He attempted to read their lips, trying to understand what was going on. Something about music? They must have been fighting over their favourite band.

_"Just because MCR is broken up doesn't mean you can walk all over them!"_

_"The Beatles aren't a band anymore either, but do you hear anyone talking about them like you talk aboot MCR?"_

_"The Beatles are DEAD, not broken up."_

_"Well, you're dead to me." Keith stormed off with a crate of shirts._

"Not as dead as your parents."

Ohhhh shit. That was definitely a part of the conversation that Lance didn't make up. He was pretty sure that was the words the other guy's lips formed. You don't mess with parents in a nerd fight. You don't mess with parents in a fight, period. Lance knew that he would totally kick ass if anyone said anything bad about his mamá.

Keith slowly turned around, throwing the crate to the ground in a thud that Lance could hear even from this distance. "What. Did. You. Just. Say?"

"Woah, man, back off." The other guy held up his hands in a let it go gesture. Lance secretly egged Keith on. Before the situation could get serious, the manager stepped out. After a few minutes of what seemed to be reprimanding, Keith sulked inside and the other guy hung his head and returned to unloading the truck. The rest of the day was uneventful. Keith stayed inside for the rest of the time and Lance ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch.

"We've been watching him for days. This is the longest we've waited to take someone out. What do you think the problem is?" Pidge was back for their afternoon shift. Lance just chilled to the side, not having anywhere to go. Now that he thought about it, where did Pidge always disappear off to when they were off duty? Lance supposed it wasn't really his place to ask.

"No idea." He was working his way through a packet of twizzlers. Just because he was a sniper for a giant underground organisation doesn't mean he couldn't feed his sweet tooth. "Maybe we won't have to shoot him after all."

"I'm pretty sure we do at some point. Well, you do, I'm just here to keep an eye on things and hack into cameras." Pidge raised an eyebrow. "Unless someone has a crush? Dude, that's not smart."

"I know, I know!" Lance blushed excessively as he denied anything and everything. "I don't have a crush! I just...have a conscience."

"I just wanna get this over so I can go back to hacking into the government and replacing their computer backgrounds with memes. Is that too much to ask?" Pidge stole a twizzler from Lance's bag and stuck it in their mouth.

"I..." huh, what did Lance want to do after he finished this mission? Maybe go back to his job back at the strip club? Maybe find someone he was interested in and settle down? He hasn't seen his friend for a while. Hunk was probably wondering where he was. Man, did he forget to pay the rent before he left? Lance did feel bad for that. "I haven't seen my family in a while. After this, I think I might drop by. Tell them I'm not dead."

"That would be good." Pidge nodded. "I'll have to find my family first."

"You need help with that?"

"Nah, it's my family, I need to do this myself."

"Good luck, pigeon."

"You too, hotshot."

**0730-1700 Spends entire time working. Seriously, this is getting boring. Spotting place: same.**

**1715 Return to apartment. Spotting place: across the apartment, third floor, second window from left.**

**1814 Conflict with upstairs. Throws out their stereo. Space dad arrives. Spotting place: same.  
|**

"Dude, check this out." Pidge's voice came over the headset. Lance had just finished his face mask and was working on pawing through his bag for his lotion, which had gone missing.

"What's up?" Lance had left Pidge to keep an eye out for a while. He returned to the window and glanced through the binoculars.

"This is the fifth time Keith is going upstairs. He looks absolutely pissed." Pidge sounded giddy. Lance was too, not for any trouble in particular, but things have been pretty boring for the last few days and he was ready to see some action.

A little while after Keith returned from work, a bunch of cars pulled up in front of the apartments and cool lights and loud music streamed through the windows of the apartment above Keith's in what must have been a party. The mulleted emo wasn't pleased. He stomped up the stairs on multiple occasions, his efforts fruitless. The music would quiet for a while, but sooner or later, it would go back to full volume again. Lance could only see a small amount of action from where he was, but he could imagine what was going on. Or make up stories to feed his imagination, at least.

_Keith pounds on the door of his upstairs neighbour, anger boiling in his chest. First of all, he despised the music choice. Second, he felt like his ceiling was ready to crack from all the stomping and creaking. This has been the millionth party the jerk has had this month and Keith couldn't stand it. The door squeaked open and loud music poured into the hallway._

_"Waddup, bro?" It was Ralph, the owner of the flat._

_"I've been here four times in the last hour, Ralph. You know what's up. Turn that stupid music down, bro." Keith pointed an accusing finger at Ralph's chest._

_"Oh, let us have some fun. You know what? Join us!" Ralph opened the door and gestured in the room._

_"Oh, okay, I'll join you." Keith's tone was mocking. He stomped in and found the sound system, which he unplugged, stopping the music in its tracks. Heads in the room all turned toward the offender. Keith couldn't give a fuck. "Say goodbye."_

Lance watched with open mouth as the entire sound system fell out of the window, crashing to the sidewalk in a million pieces, barely missing the pedestrian below. On second thought, that wasn't a random pedestrian. It was Space Dad. The poor confused man jumped back and then slowly looked up and sighed. He rushed up the stairs of the apartment and soon, Keith was being dragged back to his own apartment by his collar. It was definitely a sight to see.

Space Dad shut the door and immediately began to reprimand the aggravated emo, who plopped down on the couch and sulked, arms crossed.

  
**1825 Space Dad tells Keith off. Dinner. Spotting place: same.**

**|**

Pidge said they would take over for a bit and keep an eye on the two so Lance took a nap for half an hour. He was polishing up his gun when it happened.

"Lance, we have the signal. You have the command to shoot."

"Woah, right now?" Lance positioned himself.

"McClain, you have the command to shoot." A deep gravely voice echoed through his headset.

"But there's someone else with him!" Lance was perplexed. He was supposed to catch the victim alone.

"Don't worry. Just take out the target." The voice growled.

Okay... Lance steadied his fingers and took in a deep breath. He spotted the dark mullet and aimed a little higher, moving his finger so it was covering the trigger, an instant fatal headshot. Then, slowly, with a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, he fired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so incredibly sorry for such a wait time between this and the last chapter. I had so much going on, between going back to visit family in china and a lot of mental health issues, plus school starting up. This chapter was really bad for my writer's block too, I dunno why. I really hope you guys forgive me. I'm also sorry for the cliffhanger (not really :) ). See you next chapter!


	4. Throwbacks to the Glitter Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pause in the current story to bring you Lance's background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: character death and mature R-18 settings such as strip clubs. Also a TW for intense family drama and problems.

Lance McClain was never truly happy with his life. Yeah, he had everything, a large, boisterous family, the bestest friend a guy could ever have, food to eat, a roof over his head. But he was never truly happy.

Sure, he acted like he was. For the longest time, he even thought he was. Every morning, the same ear-to-ear grin. He joked with everybody, flirted with the hot girls and, on occasion when his gaydar blared, hot guys. But he was never truly happy.  
   
Well, he was still human. A select few things gave him the sense of joy that everyone has the capability of feeling. Nothing that ever lasted for more than a short duration of time, of course. One was swimming. Not for school races, no. But swimming in the ocean off the coast of Cuba, at the public beach a little ways from his house. He went there early in the mornings or late in the evenings when the beach was mostly deserted. Sometimes with his childhood friend, Hunk Garret. Lance loved how the waves carried his body up and down like a small roller coaster. He loved the feeling of the soft sand beneath his toes and the sprinkles of salt that gathered on his skin. He could lay there in the water for days, collect shells with Hunk on the beach, explore nearby coves in the cliff sides.

Besides the water, Lance loved to shoot things. Okay, no, not like that. His Tío Pablo owned a piece of woods and as a young boy, Lance visited frequently for shooting lessons. The lessons didn't remain lessons for long, for after a few months, Lance was a better shot than all of his family members who knew how to aim a gun. At the age of eight, he could shoot and reload eight perfect bulls eyes within fifteen seconds at the distance of five hundred metres with a 35 Whelen. Took down a deer on the first week of his hunting trip with Tío Pablo up in Ohio and Pennsylvania when he was nine.

Apart from shooting things, Lance also co-led the yoga club at school with Hunk. Lance had always been pretty flexible, if not as much so as his younger sister. He enjoyed the inner peace yoga brought him. Once in a while, his siblings would walk into his room to find Lance, actually quiet for once, with one of his aloe face masks, eyes closed, upside down on his yoga mat. It was quite a sight, to be honest.

All of these things, Lance enjoyed to an extent. But sometimes it was just like going through the motions. None of it spoke to Lance. And Lance thought it was important for things to speak to him, if not literately then figuratively. Maybe like some kind of magical sign? A lion shaped cloud like The Lion King or something? A deep voice growling, "Simba! You are the chosen one!" You know... your usual Disney calling.

There was a wall of the Casa McClain dedicated specifically to the accomplishments of Mamá Rosa's children. Gold medals and certificates and photographs. Only one item belonged to Lance. A small silver metal at the far left side of the oldest shelf, when Theo beat him by a fraction of a second on the 100m butterfly. Of course, Lance didn't give too much thought to it. His brother was the happiest he'd seen for a long time, and he celebrated along with the rest of the family.

The baby of the family, Jadzia, was nine years old and a black belt champion in her karate class.

Benny (10) was the fourth grade lacrosse team captain. He'd been bringing his school the gold since second grade.

Cleo (12) was the next prima ballerina, always auditioning and receiving the lead roles in ballets.

Julia (13) was a concert pianist, and she never missed a single note on the stage, from Bach to Mozart, Stravinsky to Beethoven.

Isadora (16) was a science Olympiad wiz and Santiago (16) was a top notch mathematician. The sheer force of their combined brains would outdo even Einstein himself.

Both Theo (18) and Lance (20) were on the swim team when they were in high school, but Theo always outswims Lance by at least a tenth of a second, thus, Lance still lived in his brother's shadow.

Sophie was the oldest and had moved out already, but she returns home every Christmas and during breaks. She was on her last year at Harvard Medical School, already with an internship and bright future in front of her.

Everyone had a thing, had something to be proud of, something they were good at. Everyone except Lance.

Sure, Lance could swim, was an ace shot with a rifle, had top notch makeup skills, and a fabulous fashion sense, but the family wasn't exactly comfortable with that. Or the fact that he was bi. Nothing he did was good enough compared to everyone else in the family.

So, maybe Lance didn't have a thing.

One afternoon, the summer after senior year, he was hanging with a few of his friends: Hunk, Rax, Arus, and Kal. They were playing a game of truth or dare, and of course, with 18+ games, it gets pretty dirty. Soon the group had wound up at the local strip club, checking out bodies and daring each other to get lap dances. A particular girl caught Lance's eyes, blonde cornrows and vitiligo creating intricate patterns of light and dark across her exposed skin. It was early and only a few people were scattered around the club, mostly middle aged men with no real jobs.

"Lance." Kal followed his gaze and spotted the girl, who currently wrapped a leg around the pole around the middle of her side of the room and swung from it gracefully. "I dare you to flirt with her and challenge her to a pole dance dance-off."

"Bro, do itttt!" Arus urged. "I've seen you dance, man, and if I were gay, I'd totally have fallen for you, but you know, tits are pretty nice, and..." he continued on, but Lance wasn't listening.

"Game on." He smirked. Lance leaned his arm on the nearby table and faced the girl, who had finished her dance routine and was in the middle of a private dance. The song ended and she revieved a few bills from a middle aged man. The guy left and Lance enthusiastically charged up. The girl regarded Lance with a smile that didn't really reach her bluish-violet eyes. Her pink lips gleamed in the low mood lights.

"Hey, gorgeous." Lance started. It wasn't much, but he'd caught her attention. "Are you nobody?" She frowned. "Because nobody's perfect." He raised an eyebrow, trying hard not to finger gun.

The girl laughed, but it was almost a pity laugh. She shifted her hips attractively. "That must have been the third...no, fourth time I've heard that today." She rested a hand on her hip. "And you, are you really old enough to be here?"

"Are you?" Lance bounced back.

"I sure am. Can I help you, handsome?" She took a step toward him in her slender legs and tall blue heels.

"Actually, you can." Lance dug out two twenty dollar bills, lying one on the table between him and and girl and holding up the other. "You see, my guys here, they like a good show. How about I challenge you to a pole dance competition? Just you and me, and these guys as the judges? If you win them over, this second one is yours." He waved the bill and handed it over to Hunk, who grinned and promised to keep it safe.

"Oh? Consider yourself a deal." She sounded confident, taking the twenty on the table and slipping it in her g-string.

"You first, sweetheart." Lance held out his hand. "Lance, by the way."

The girl shook his hand. "Nyma."

She waited for the current song to end and took her place as a new one started up. Sweet Dreams flowed through the speaker and Nyma began with her back against the pole, one arm above her head and another sliding up her body. Rax whistled. Nyma danced with grace and fluidity, and she was good, real good. She traveled around in a circle before swinging her hair and body into a spin, climaxing her moves until she had climbed halfway up and worked through a series of splits and upside down hangs. Arus leaned over. "Bro, I take that back. You might was to hand over the twenty bucks now. She's going to slay you."

"Yeah, right." Lance huffed. On the contrary, Lance was completely prepared. Both Theo and he took dance classes to help with their body fluidity in the water, plus he had all those yoga practises. Although his friends have seen him dance at a few school dances, they'd never truly seen him in action. He was glad he wore sweatpants today, which gave him more movement space. As the song ended, Nyma ended on the ground and back up again. Her sex appeal was strong, and at a glance, Lance could see some of his friends were sporting some pretty dominant erections. He himself wasn't an exception, but this was a competition, dammit, and he was going to do win.

"Playground's all yours, pretty boy." Nyma winked and walked off to the side.

Lance smirked and shrugged off his jacket, tossing it to the girl. He kicked off his shoes and socks, leaving, unfortunately, black sweatpants and a blue and white shirt, not very impressive. The next song started up as what Lanced recognised as It's a Man's Man's Man's World. Perfect. As soon as the beginning instrumental reached a peak, he grabbed the pole and flipped right into an upside down split, earning exclamations and whistles from his "groupies". Cautiously, Lance lowered himself down and took agonisingly slow and sensual steps toward the small crowd gathered for his audience, sliding his shirt off and tossing it at Nyma with a wink. He returned to the pole and swung his leg forward, drawling it back quickly and moving his arms in jerky movements along with the beat. He loved improvising to music, which often earned him an earful from his dance teacher, but here, it was a good skill to have. Pulling himself up to swing around the pole, he held his arm out and showed off his prominent muscles from years of chiselling, from swim practise, dance lessons, yoga sessions, and caring for his younger siblings. As he pulled himself up and around, curving his body around the pole in different positions, he realised that he was happy. The looks of awe on his friends' faces and the free movements of his body was exhilarating. No siblings to worry of, no future to think about. He felt like the true him, minus a need for makeup and some proper clothes. This, he decided, was what he wanted to do. Screw college.

And win he did. Hoots and hollers from his buddies earned a few stray looks from other customers in the area. Nyma handed Lance his shirt with narrowed eyes. "If you ever get into the industry," she whispered, "don't come here."

Later, after long arguments with Mamá Rosa, Lance moved out. He found an apartment that he shared with Hunk, who seemed to support Lance's choices and offered to give him advice and be a shoulder to cry on, to which Lance was grateful. Hunk already had a job as the assistant chef of a nearby restaurant. The guy was a genius with food, like, seriously, actual Samoan Gordon Ramsey or something.

Lance accumulated his own money together and gathered all the things he needed, a licence to be an adult entertainer, his mass collection of makeup, and a sequinned pair of tights that Lance fell in love with as soon as he saw it. There was a black sequinned shirt to match, blue and purple dots creating a nebula across his chest and over his left shoulder. And, of course, the most gorgeous pair of heels he'd ever laid eyes on. Okay, not exactly. It was the most gorgeous pair of heels he'd laid eyes on in an outlet store for 50% off. But it was worth it just the same. Lance finally landed his own spot in a LGBT+ friendly club across the town from Nyma, and he forgot all about that day.

You could say he was good for business. The customers loved him and so did the manager. The other strippers hated him, but it didn't matter to Lance, because all eyes were on him. He perfected his dance skills and took in a large amount of tips from more than a few regulars.

"Blue, over here!"

"Hey, Blue, I want a turn after her!"

Lance enjoyed the attention. He didn't really pick his name, but it caught on the first day of work, when he sauntered in with his dark blue, galaxy makeup that shimmered under the club lights and highlighted his features, sharpening his jawline and showing off his bright blue eyes. His lips were outlined and glossed with the same colour palette, splashes of well blended dark blue, turquoise, and indigo. When he fluttered his lashes, the glitter that hid on his eyelids sparkled and seem to cast a spell over the customers, pulling them in unsuspectedly like a riptide.

Lance continued this for the next year, putting on his pole dancing shows and doing private dances.

"One day, when your ass isn't on my lap and making me weak, you should totally help me do my makeup." It was one of his regulars.

"Tell you what." Lance told him, turning around to face the guy and swivelling his hips, earning a moan. "I have a show at ten tonight. If you can find me after that, we'll see about upgrading your makeup skills."

 ----------

The man didn't find him afterwards, but that's alright. Lance left early whenever he could. He liked to take some private time with his beauty products (especially with the amount of makeup he used) and he really valued his beauty sleep. He was gathering up his money and shrugging on his jacket when someone slammed him against the wall next to the mirror. Lance jumped but remained composed.

"Looks like someone likes to play rough." Lance pressed back a little, examining his attacker. "Sorry, pretty boy, but my shift's over, and I have a "no takeouts" policy."

"I'm not here for your..." the man hesitated, as if uncomfortable. "Takeout."

He was buff, but that wasn't a rarity in the stripper business. What was interesting was the awkward air around the guy. He was a stranger to Lance's bare chest -- covered in scented oil and glitter -- and even more stranger to the strap on blue heels, at which the man raised an eyebrow to.

"Well," Lance ran a hand through his hair, probably shaking out a rainstorm of glitter in the process. Glitter is a tool from the heavens, don't diss it. "You're here, I'm here, and you've got me against a wall. Something you need?"  
   
"Actually, I'm here to collect a debt for an employer." Buff Guy growled. "One that your father never paid. Twenty-five years ago. Too bad he's dead. Nevertheless, we opted for his oldest living son. Now, lets go."

"Wait, what?" Lance froze at the mention of his father. He was the only non-Hispanic of the family, of European decent, which was how a family of Cubans ended up with the name McClain. There was no sugarcoat in the man's word of his father, and it wrenched a painful feeling in his gut.

Lance didn't want to think of the Incident. No one ever talked about the Incident.

_Thirteen year old Lance had followed his father on some errands with his little sister Julia, who was not quite six back then. They had done some grocery shopping and were headed to the bank for Mr. McClain to deposit a check. They were halfway through the line and Mr. McClain was telling a joke to the two children -- something about crossing an octopus with a banker -- when alarms began to blare. Popping noises began and two of the workers at the counter fell to the ground. At first, Lance didn't understand what was going on, but soon the pieces clicked as two men in black and dark masks advanced into the room, one of them firing a rifle in the air and putting a hole through the ceiling._

_"Everyone, on your hands and knees!" A voice warned. "Stay that way don't don't move!"_

_Mr. McClain wasn't fast enough. His intention was to protect the children, pushing Lance and Julia down. But in that time, the armed men saw Mr. McClain as a threat, as he was not fully on the ground._

Crack.

_Lance's world was turned upside down as Mr. McClain's eyes widened while a splurge of blood sprayed from his lips, covering half of Lance's shoulder in a dark red substance. The man fell to the side of Lance with a heavy thud, his body limp, acting as warning to the rest of the hostages._

_Although she knew what was going on, Julia didn't see anything. Lance covered her eyes as fast as he could and shielded her body with this own, keeping as still as he could with the wetness of his own father's blood seeping through his sleeve. He didn't even cry. He couldn't feel anything. All he could hear was a loud ringing in his ears._

_There was no rescue. Three other people had been shot down because they had tried to get up or move. Lance saw every single one go down. A shot to the head. A shot to the chest. A shot to the stomach. The man with the stomach wound fell but did not die instantly. Painful gurgles filled the room for twenty-seven long seconds before the sound died down. These were things that no boy of thirteen should ever see unless it was on a video game. And this was no video game._

_Time passed, maybe a few minutes, maybe a few hours. Finally, one of the men with the guns pulled Lance to his feet, bringing Julia up with the him. Lance kept his body between Julia's line of sight and the dead bodies as they were ushered along the re remaining hostages -- a old woman and a scrawny accountant -- into one of the office cubicles. One armed man stayed behind to guard them while the other one sauntered off. From the footsteps and voices down the hall, Lance knew there must have been other reinforcements. As he listened in, he could make out a few words: police, outside, money. Apparently, the police was outside, but were too stupid to get through the criminals and come rescue them. Lance's brain spun. He knew he could take matters into his own hands, but was it worth the risk? Subtly, he surveyed the small office. A mug of pencils, a heavy looking pc, two rolling chairs on either side of a medium sized mahogany desk (which Lance had motioned for Julia to hide behind), and a telephone. Thick folders lined the side of the desk._

_The man had turned his back to the four civilians to look down the hall, and while he did, Lance took one of the folders and hit the guy over the head with it, stunning him long enough that he could take the phone chord and wrap it around his neck. He pulled the chord tight and the man flailed around, his rifle falling from his hands. Then he stopped moving. Lance didn't check if he was dead, but picked up the gun. It looked like his Uncle Pablo's rifle, but this one was black and much bigger and heavier. Lance didn't know how he could be so calm after all that's happened, but he didn't question it. It may have been the adrenaline or the responsibility to protect his little sister. He held it up and positioned it against his shoulder, his finger along the trigger but not covering it. These were all things he'd learned from Uncle Pablo, and he was glad he knew. Footsteps traveled closer and Lance aimed the gun at the entrance of the office, sliding his finger over the trigger. As soon as the form appeared, Lance aimed for the head._

Crack.

_Two down. The old woman and the accountant looked pretty shocked in the corner. "Follow me." He said. "I'll get you out of here." How did he manage to be so confident as a thirteen year old with an oversized rifle? Who knows? But Lance sure pulled it off. The four of them moved down the hall in a huddle, Julia clutching to Lance's shirt tightly as he held the weapon up as a precaution. They were met with no more resistance as Lance led them out through the side door where the surprised police force took them in with open arms, wrenching the rifle from the arms of a thirteen year old Lance as the shock hit him with full force._

It took two years of therapy for Lance to be okay again.

So yeah, the mention of his father still hit him hard.

"What do you mean?" All pretences gone, Lance narrowed his eyes.

The man got impatient, and that's when he brought out the gun. "The Commander wants to see you now, and if you don't come with me, there will be consequences. I've got ten bullets in here. One for each of your siblings, one for your mom, and one for insurance."

Oh.

That's why Lance climbed into the shady black car waiting outside for him. He got his explanation on the fifteen minute car ride to the buttfuck of nowhere, where the "Commander" dude wanted to meet him.

Apparently, his father made some kind of deal with the leader of an underground operation and cut his end of the bargain short. Now, Lance was the lucky one to inherent the debt to what is known to be the biggest underground organisation in the world, or something like that. Boy was he in over his head.

As a good underground organisation should be, the Galra already knew practically everything about Lance. They even had footage from the cameras in the bank from the Incident that captured Lance's heroic escape. Add the fact that Lance was a terrific shot -- even more so than he had thought. 

Now, skip the boring meetings between Commander Zarkon and Lance, and Lance wondering if Hunk and his family worried about his disappearance. If all of that detail was included, this chapter would have no end. 

In the end, Lance was recruited into what was now known as the Galra Empire and trained to be a sniper, because of his naturally good gunmanship that was seen through one singular video. Then again, Zarkon was usually right about the skills and value of the people he decided to recruit, and Lance was no exception. To repay his father's debt, he was to complete three missions, and then he could return to whatever life he had before all of this. Sounds legit. Lance had nothing else better to do with his life.

Two missions later, Lance was landed in the middle of Round Rock, Texas. Lance wasn't impressed with all the cowboy hats, or his emo target.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what it's canon now that Lance is the youngest child of his family, but I had written this before it was confirmed and I really didn't want to rewrite everything. Apologies for the langst, I may or may not have cried while writing this. I really don't know why I do this to myself. Anyways, comment, kudos, and feel free to use my fic for inspiration on fanart and whatnot. Just that if you do create fanart, please give me a heads up. I love me some art. Love y'all and thanks for the support!


End file.
